Reflections of SoulBound Creatures
by A. E. Stover
Summary: CANON AU - A collection of thoughts from a rag-tag team of social misfits and nobodies, bound together by the one fact that they can see wild creatures who devour humans – and by the fact that they possess the power to exterminate them.
1. LOVE

_**Reflections of Soul-Bound Creatures  
><strong>_written by **A. E. Stover  
><strong>this version is **self**-**edited**

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_The darkness of vengeance  
><em>_can only be purged  
><em>_by the light of justice._

_But from where it comes,  
><em>_and from what it is defined,  
><em>_nobody knows._

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**Tear open your soul.**

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><p><strong>LOVE<strong>

* * *

><p>.<p>

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Would he have to love this one, he wondered, if he wanted to survive?

His mind was blank. There was nothing that surfaced when it came to the idea of love, for that was a long-forgotten ideal he learned to abandon. Did he love himself? That much should be true. He wouldn't be striving so hard to better himself if he didn't have some love of himself. Did he love others? A long time ago, yes. He could remember a time when he loved, and was even loved by, others. But _now_? He thought that absurd.

"What are you doing? We're in the middle of a spar! Don't space out on me like that!"

Did he know love? _Should_ he know love? Was it important enough? There was a ferocity in the foes he'd faced who had come to fight for others, a ferocity that he had been unable to match. So, yes, it was important enough for him to consider…

"Okay, could you please focus on what's happening now instead of brooding away by yourself somewhere?"

This one was strong, he knew. He could feel it. There was a strength he'd felt when they had first connected, when their souls had first linked. That was his soul in this one, and true the other way around. With this one, he would be able to break free from the prison that was his sword. It was just a matter of time, now. It was only a matter of time.

"This spar is supposed to be about teamwork, you jerkface. _Teamwork._ Do you even know what that is, you self-absorbed jacka—_whoa!_ Okay, seriously? Can you please leave your land of brooding for just five minutes to give me a hand here? Hey! Are you even listening to me?"

He didn't want to, but he could. It was like an incessant, echoing buzz, like that of a mosquito. He couldn't rid himself of it no matter how hard he tried. Their souls were bound.

"In case you didn't know, teamwork is about supporting your comrades in tough situations. This? This right here? This is a tough situation. …God, I don't know why I even bother."

He would break free from his sword. But until that time, he would have to survive. They both had to survive, he realized bitterly. This one and himself. He would have to protect this one. Care when this one was wounded or ill. Concern himself with this one's condition But, returning to his initial train of thought, would he have to love this one, he wondered, to care? To survive?

"Grimmjow!"

No, he said to himself, he didn't need to. He had survived without it long enough, he could make do without it now. Ending with that thought, he allowed for his release. His felt their essence mix together, becoming one.

"_Kishire — Panterra!" _

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	2. HATE

_**Reflections of Soul-Bound Creatures  
><strong>_written by **A. E. Stover  
><strong>this version is **self-edited**

.

**S**he wields a power of unending grief,  
><strong>E<strong>ager to quell the tempest left  
><strong>I<strong>nside to howl for centuries without  
><strong>K<strong>nowing the depth or weight of pain,  
><strong>A<strong>nd fights to keep it from consuming her soul.

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><p><strong>HATE<strong>

* * *

><p>.<p>

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Do I hate him for choosing me, this being whose soul my very existence is bound to? This is the question I am often asked.

When we were first introduced, he had said to me that I was nothing without him; that I would cease to exist if I didn't live as if I were fighting to survive just one more hour, just one more day…

It would have been wonderful if his spiteful nature ended with those words, but it had barely begun. Every spar I swung my sword in, every Hollow I cut down, he'd say that I was doing something wrong. He would yell at me, curse at me, spit at me:

_You're too slow! What's wrong with you? Your ass too heavy for you to move? Is that it?_

_How could you miss? It was right in front of you! Don't you have eyes? Use your goddamn eyes!_

_Why didn't you block left? Now look at you, you're bleeding onto my hilt!_

_I told you not to let him catch you off guard! What were you doing? Did you want to die?_

During those times of battle, his tongue was a spiteful cobra. It hissed venomous words that were deadlier than the sharpest sword. In my earlier years, if I had to describe the sound of his voice, I would have said that it grated against your ears. And loudly so, because he was always yelling. He never spoke to you — he yelled at you. And he never asked for something — he demanded it. His words made me lose focus, made me lose confidence, and made me lose heart. I began to lose myself in battle; I'd fumble with my sword in the midst of an attack. I'd lose my balance. I'd forget to keep my guard up. And I'd allow my fear to swallow me whole.

On some year back then, there was a time when I almost died. I remember it, as it was also a time when he began to grow silent and indifferent towards me. His disappointment radiated off his soul, penetrating to the depths of my own, and I knew that in my disappointing him I had inevitably made him see that I was no longer of any worth to him. I would lose my balance and he would be silent. I would drop my sword in battle, and he would be still. I once tore my shoulder open against an enemy, and there wasn't even the slightest waver of concern that I felt from his soul. Instead, the sword in my hand grew heavier and heavier, and the bond placed between us grew more and more painful to live with.

I had been rejected.

He broke his silence some time after and began yelling again, though this time it was at Ulquiorra. He would yell about this and that; little things that didn't matter. Ulquiorra didn't always respond; mostly Ulquiorra just sat there watching programs or reading the paper. You'd think it would have been for the better, this patient silence that came from an unwillingness to create unnecessary trouble, but it had only made things worse. When he didn't get a response from Ulquiorra every now and then, he would get furious and come to the ridiculous notion that he was being disrespected. Then he would try and instigate a fight, this time physical, and when he failed he would sulk off somewhere like a child.

I've never seen Ulquiorra react to any of these outbursts, which happen even now. I've asked him once, a long time ago, why he put up with it. He had said to me, in his dispassionate, monotonous tone:

"There is a hundred years' worth of despair that was sealed along with him that came from watching everything he had, including himself, be taken away."

A child, I had said of him before. But now it is different. Now, I say;

A human. He is simply human.

Do I hate him for choosing me, this being whose soul my very existence is bound to? This being, whose harsh words and voice are venomous and spiteful from carrying a hundred years' worth of despair?

"No. I don't hate him," is my answer when I am asked this question, less and less as the years pass and as I grow, "At least, not really."

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	3. PAIN

_**Reflections of Soul-Bound Creatures  
><strong>_written by **A. E. Stover  
><strong>this version is **not edited**

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**K**illed once already,  
><strong>A<strong> child with forgotten dreams; his  
><strong>Z<strong>eal twice abandoned for the  
><strong>U<strong>ndertaking the responsibilities  
><strong>O<strong>f carrying the sword.

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><p><strong>PAIN<strong>

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><p>.<p>

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"_Kishire — Panterra!"_

Ah. So he _is_ alive in there. It's been a while since Grimmjow released. I was beginning to think he actually died or something in there. How long has it been again?

…Two years, you say? Only two years? Are you sure? To me, it felt more like five. But if you say its been two years, it must be. Okay, then. Two years.

Two years since — Wait, I didn't say go! You didn't give me a chance to make my move!

…I know that's not how battles are fought, but come on… This is just a spar, isn't it? Can't you tell Grimm to go easy on me or something? I'm not even the one this whole teamwork thing is for, anyway…

Ah! Wait, a — That's not fair! Grimm's got complete hold of her! Isn't that supposed to be illegal? Oh, wait — I think — I think she's breaking through. She's fighting back, and now she's…! Awesome, she's back in the fight!

Ahaha… She's mad.

Hey… She's pretty sharp to be able to pick out and separate her soul from Grimm's, don't you think? Grimm's pretty stubborn, so it makes for a stronger bond, you know? Actually, I don't think she's ever had a problem discerning her soul from Grimm's. She's kinda sensitive to his presence. I'm thinking it's a girl thing, cause I think the rest of us have always had trouble with that.

Well, yeah, okay. Maybe it's just different for everybody; we've all had our own struggles to overcome. I guess her's would be strengthening her bond with Grimm. And mine was... Well, it's more of an "is" because I'm still having trouble with it, I think.

Yeah, you take care of it for the most part, and I'm glad. But it's still something I should work on. I mean, it's not great that it takes such a long time for me to recognize the energy patterns of my own soul. It's great for battle, because we're completely in sync with each other, but…

In the real world, it's a handicap. I'm so aware of you that I forget that you're not always physically with me. It's amazing to experience such a close connection to another being, but after some time the body is conditioned into overlooking that the connection exists purely on the basis of mental awareness.

…Hm? No, I'm not saying anything bad about you, or this connection we're bound by, rather. I told you; it's not a bad thing. I'm just saying that it can get a little weird for people who don't know anything about this. You know… Like how I have that tendency to talk to you out loud even when you aren't physically there? Kinda makes me look schizophrenic.

I think my sister even told my parents that I'm sick in the head. They all want to admit me to a clinic. Isn't that funny? Hahaha… Ha.

Why am I laughing? That's not funny at all…

I've lost a lot of friends doing this, you know? I've lost my family too. I want them back, so badly. I miss them everyday. You know I once had a girlfriend, right? Her name was Sana. She had this cute laugh, and she was the only girl who could beat me in FPS games. And she had these gorgeous eyes, too. And she was so kind…

Well, I thought she was kind. I didn't expect her to dump me for that Fujisaki guy. He's kind of a loser. I don't see what's so great about him, really… I bet I could knock him down in five seconds. Of course, I can't do that now; she really likes him.

Ugh, this is so depressing…! Stop, stop, stop! I can't think about that. All that's in the past. That's not me anymore. Now, I'm… awesome. I'm… cool. My life is… is…

Oh, look. Looks like Grimmjow and Seika have reached a consensus. How long do you think they'll last before they end up trying to overpower each other?

…Two minutes? Hm, I'd give them more credit than that. Maybe five?

…I don't know why I always pick five. I like that number. It's my lucky number.

Ah. Here they come.

You ready?

I'm ready.

Okay.

"_Tozase — Murciélago!"_

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	4. JOY

_**Reflections of Soul-Bound Creatures  
><strong>_written by **A. E. Stover  
><strong>this version is **self-edited**

.

_Why is it  
><em>_that those who seek freedom  
><em>_take flight?_

_What can you do  
><em>_from so far above,  
><em>_from so far away?_

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**Shake the skies.**

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><p><strong>JOY<strong>

* * *

><p>.<p>

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It was many years ago that I came into being. I was born into a desolate world, where nothing seemed to matter. My existence, my future; all these things had already ended when I came…

Or so I had said to my keeper upon meeting him.

To be honest, I don't remember when I came to be. It feels as though I had always been.

I do remember that I had outlived many keepers, all too many to count. There were men, and I recall some women too; both young and old. I've had children, and I've seen them grow old; their human skins leathery and wrinkled. I've seen many turn to dust, some even at my own hands…

This one is like many I've had before, perhaps the best. An excellent swordsman and strategist with quick reflexes and a sharp eye. It's quite unfortunate that his mind is frequently occupied with thoughts of that fool's keeper. If he gave as much focus on his training as he did on that woman, maybe he could…

Perhaps that is asking too much of him too soon. From what I understand, she is the only thing of his past life that remains. The moment he was reborn to wield me, the life he'd lived began to rot around him, making way for a new heartbeat, a new breath, a new world.

I would imagine that being given a new life would be more liberating than restrictive, but this one didn't seem to understand this as well as my previous partners. He seeks acceptance from a world that can not accept him, and is eager to please those who will never be pleased. I can feel his childish notions fading slowly, but it is not with the kind of maturity I had expected of him. He remains shattered and disillusioned, submitting to his new life with an unwilling heart.

For the record, I wish to express the irony of the fact that the one person most competent to wield me is unwilling to do so, and unwilling to accept the benefits of doing so. This has never happened before. I have never been in unwilling hands. Though we are in sync, though we are connected, we are not whole. There is a barrier of which I am unable to pass through, a barrier through which our connection is thinning.

It is a rejection of the heart, the rejecting will of the wielder, which I cannot overcome. In time, we will go our separate ways. This bond will one day shatter, and he will no longer be responsible for shouldering the burden that comes with carrying Murciélago. It would be my greatest joy to grant him the freedom he so desires.

Until then, I will do my best to ensure that he lives to that day.

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	5. ORIGIN

_**Reflections of Soul-Bound Creatures  
><strong>_written by **A. E. Stover  
><strong>this version is **self-edited**

.

_To know from whence you came  
><em>_is to know to where you'll go  
><em>_and what you will become._

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**Eat your fill.**

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><p><strong>ORIGIN<strong>

* * *

><p>.<p>

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I am the youngest of twelve. This, I have gathered from the accounts of my… family. We are a broken people, pitted against one another for the selfish desires of one man.

I carry the number three with pride — and with much apprehension. We all bear numbers on our souls; it is a testimony of our strength and ranking in the group when we were created, and to be ranked three out of the twelve is a wondrous achievement.

But I am not so full of pride that I cannot see the truth behind these numbers. Our rankings were decided on the day of our creation, many eons ago. We have changed since our first breath; some for the better and some for the worse. Already, one has fallen. There are eleven of us left, four of whom have abandoned us to be with that man and one who has disappeared into the strands of time.

The six of us have kept in touch throughout the centuries, and after much time fate has brought us together in one city. Our keepers, for the first time in decades, are young, strong, and passionate. With them, our numbers have grown; but with them, our strength has dwindled. They are young, but impulsive; strong, but inexperienced; passionate, but unwise. It does not take long for them to fall against the weakest beasts of shadow and death.

But just as the seasons change, so will they, shedding their reckless nature, their naïve hearts, and their ignorance to gain maturity, perceptivity, and patience. And as they each undergo their own transformations, so do we, my people. Our hearts, once hardened and unmoving, are now born anew in our human partners, open to new visions and sensations that the human world has to offer.

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	6. TRUST

_**Reflections of Soul-Bound Creatures  
><strong>_written by **A. E. Stover  
><strong>this version is **self-edited**

.

**K**ind only in his own way,  
><strong>A<strong> boy of seventeen  
><strong>T<strong>orn apart from his brother at  
><strong>S<strong>ix to stave away  
><strong>U<strong>nwanted influences, he  
><strong>Y<strong>earns for the chance to  
><strong>A<strong>bandon his home and flee.

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><p><strong>TRUST<strong>

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><p>.<p>

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Yeah, so…

…I'm really, really bored right now. Like, this could be a legit form of torture.

You'd think watching two sword wielding-type spirits or whatcha-ma-call-its in action would be fun to watch, but in actuality… It's not. Especially if it's for "teamwork building" purposes. Then the action's all fake and whatever… Even more so here, since Ulquiorra's partner has the hots for that chick he's fighting against.

Oh my _God_, this is so boring. You have no idea. It's worse than the times my mom used to drag me to the salon to get her nails done. You know how much that place stinks? It's all, like, chemicals and shit, and all that nasty stuff's gotta be doing some crazy shit to your lungs if your freaking _nails_ turn yellow if you don't chill the fuck out with painting your nails with all that crap, seriously. That's probably why I'm messed up in the head now, _mom._ It's got nothing to do with my brother — He's the greatest guy around! It's that stupid salon you used to take me to, okay? Geez…

I'm supposed to be up next, but with the way things are going I'm never gonna get to do _anything._ And even if I do get up there, I don't think there's much to do since I'm supposed to train against _her_. That chick's super weak; probably the weakest of the bunch here. Dunno why Crazy Blue chose _her_ of all the people in the world. He's got bad taste in girls, if you ask me. Queen Clutz over there keeps dropping her sword and shit. If that thing comes flying over here, I swear, I'mma grab that shit and go wild on her ass, because the last time I was near that sword, I was in the hospital for a week.

You know what's worse? My holy saint of a partner didn't do shit when Crazy Blue cut me down. "It builds character," she said. "It builds up trust," she said. Yeah right; that insufferable know-it-all just gets her kicks watching me be wrong all the time.

And, yeah, I guess I shouldn't have been trying to grab all the glory on our hunt last time, but she was dragging me down and those fuckers are fast! It was better to ditch her somewhere and keep her from moving around too much, you know? I didn't know Crazy Blue'd be so… Well, _crazy._ I didn't think he'd really care.

But I guess he did, 'cause he was pretty pissed to find out I'd tossed her on a roof somewhere and took her sword for myself. I didn't know she'd attract Feeders either; I thought she didn't have anything worth sucking out, you know? When Ulquiorra first introduced them, I didn't even know she was there until she said something. She's got really low levels of spiritual energy, almost non-existent. Crazy Blue was practically blazing compared to her; not as much as Ulquiorra or ol' Patchy, but his energy — you _felt_ it; it was _there,_ loud and obnoxious. So really, when I left her there I didn't think it'd be a big deal (especially since the Angel over here didn't say anything about it when I did).

Ah… Well, you know what they say. You learn from your mistakes. And trust me, I sure as hell learned mine.

Next time, ditch the sword _and_ the girl.

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End file.
